The Exile

by Jo Sandhu

  ‘You will need protection on your journey.’ Old Father’s voice sliced through Tarin’s memories and shattered them like shards of ice. He grasped Tarin’s arm and pushed up his sleeve, exposing the soft flesh of his inner wrist. A blade flashed, sharpest flint, and Tarin felt a brief burning pain. Two curved lines marked his skin. His blood welled red against his white skin and dripped onto the grey rocks.

  ‘Spirit of Owl, protect your child,’ Old Father murmured. He held Tarin’s wrist with one hand while the other reached into a pouch at his waist. He took a handful of bog moss and rubbed it into the wound. ‘May his life blood return to the great Earth Mother.’

  Tarin watched the last drops of his blood fall to the ground. With the next snow fall, it would wash away, to join with the water below. He held his arm against his body to soothe the pain. ‘Old Father, will Owl guide me to the mountain?’

  ‘Owl will guide you.’ Old Father pushed himself to his feet, straightening with difficulty. ‘And the Old Spirits. You will need their help to find the mountain. Spirit of Rock is strong in you.’

  ‘And what will I do when I reach the mountain? How will I know where to go?’

  ‘You will know.’ Old Father took Tarin’s arm, and clasped his hand with surprising strength. ‘You will know, because in your dreams, you have already been there.’

  Yes, Tarin thought. In my dreams, I have been there. Darkness absolute. A long, twisting passage. The feeling of earth and rock pressing down, squeezing the air from his lungs . . .

  Tarin woke up screaming.

  The blizzard had blown itself out, leaving behind a soft covering of snow and the brilliant blue sky of a new day. Crisp, clean air filled Tarin’s lungs as he squirmed out of the tangle of furs and twisted tree roots. He gulped it in, feeling his nightmare dissolve.

  ‘Tarin, come and look at this!’

  Niko stood on the top of the ridge, his arms spread wide and his face lifted to the rising sun. Tarin scrambled up the embankment to join him, and caught his breath at the pano­rama before them. Rolling hills, covered in crispest white, a band of deep green pines against the blazing blue sky, and in the distance, like a dark ribbon running through it all – the river, snaking its way southwards.

  ‘We did it, Tarin!’ Niko beamed at him and slapped him on the back. ‘We did it. We made it to the river.’

  Tarin shielded his eyes and studied the landscape. It was the big river, but there was no sign of Two Rock Peak. He chewed his lip.

  ‘Come on, Tarin. What are you waiting for?’ Niko lifted his head and whooped for joy. Then he charged down the slope, slipping and sliding on the new cover of snow. Tarin followed more slowly.

  During the blizzard, they must somehow have turned south, he thought. He could just make out a dark row of distant cliffs far to the north. To go that way now in the hope of finding Two Rock Peak would add days to their journey. Days they could ill afford.

  He rubbed his head and tried to stop his thoughts from going round and round in circles. He felt a sudden pain and the cold, wet feeling of snow against his chest.

  ‘Ha! Got you!’ Niko gathered another handful of snow and hurled it towards him.

  A wide grin broke out on Tarin’s face and he hurriedly grabbed his own handful of snow and patted it into a ball. One of his fondest memories was playing in the snow with Taavo and his mother and father. He chuckled as he recalled a lucky snowball hitting his father. The sound of Kalle’s booming laughter, and the sight of the big man with snow dripping from his beard and from his wild hair, pierced Tarin’s heart and made him realise . . . he was a long way from home.

  ‘Missed me,’ Niko said with a laugh, as Tarin’s snowball landed short. ‘Come on, slow one. Today’s the day we reach Bison Clan. I can feel it.’

  A final tributary lay in their path, a swiftly flowing stream gathering melt water before joining with the great river. In spring it was a rushing torrent, carving a deep gully through the plains. In winter, when the great Ice Mother jealously guarded her glaciers, it flowed to a trickle, then stilled, locked in an icy prison.

  ‘We’ll have to go around,’ said Tarin, standing at the lip of the gully. He studied the steep sides of grey rock. No trees grew, not even the small, tenacious spike moss could take root on the barren rock, and any that did were simply washed away in the spring floods.

  ‘But we’re so close,’ Niko said. ‘Half a day and we’re there – at the river!’

  Tarin chewed his lip. ‘We have no choice.’

  ‘You have no choice,’ Niko said, anger darkening his brow. ‘I could jump across the rocks, easily.’

  ‘Then you do it,’ Tarin snapped back. ‘Because I cannot.’ He turned away from Niko and dropped his pack on the ground. He lay down beside it and stretched out, staring up at the sky. Another obstacle. Disappointment stabbed him, but he pushed it aside. It would just take them a bit longer to reach the great river and Bison Clan.

  The ache in his stomach was as constant as the ache in his leg. Tarin thought about the one cake they had left. They should wait until they absolutely needed it. But what if that was now? His stomach groaned and he pushed hard against it to stop the noise. He hesitated only a moment longer, then dug in his pack for the last cake. He broke it in half and handed a piece to Niko.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘This is the last piece.’

  Niko pressed his lips together in an angry line. Then he snatched the cake and shoved it into his mouth. He turned to walk away, but not before Tarin saw his eyes squeeze shut and a tear slip down his cheek.

  Tarin hung his head. The steppe stretched around them in a never-ending sweep of grassland, giving no indication that they were even travelling in the right direction – and this was the easiest part of their journey. He shivered as he thought of the wild lands beyond Bison Clan.

  ‘You can cross here, if you like,’ Tarin said. ‘I . . . I cannot. Even if I could get down into the gully, I’d never climb back out. But if you want to, we will meet again at Bison Camp.’ He heard his voice waver as he spoke, and he clamped his lips together and swallowed hard, waiting for Niko to speak.

  Niko shook his head, but didn’t turn around. When he spoke, it was in such a low voice, Tarin had to move closer to hear him.

  ‘If we die . . . it will be because of you, Tarin.’

  Tarin hung his head even lower. He knew that. He told himself that all the time. But Niko was still speaking.

  ‘Why you? Out of all Mammoth Clan – why did you have to be chosen to take the Offering?’

  ‘I . . . I ruined the hunt. It is my task . . . my duty.’ Tarin stumbled over his words.

  Niko shook his head. ‘But why not Taavo? Why not me?’ As he spoke, his voice rose louder, until he was shouting at Tarin. ‘You shouldn’t even be alive. My mother says so. It should have been my brother who lived, not you.’ With an angry sob, Niko turned from him and ran.

  Tarin watched him go, feeling miserable. He started walking, but he had no strength, and his feet dragged along the ground. The pack was so heavy, his back bent with the weight and the muscles in his neck bunched into tight knots. Words swam around and around in his mind.

  If we die, it will be because of you . . .

  The boy is bad luck . . .

  Tarin closed his eyes. Hot tears coursed down his cheeks. They stung the scratch on his face and left tracks in the dirt and grime.

  It should have been my brother who lived, not you . . .

  Tarin frowned. A story told to him many years ago hovered on the edge of remembrance. A story about a child born before Niko. He looked ahead to the small figure silhouetted against the sun. He may not understand Niko’s words, but he understood the anger. He understood the need to run and run, as far as the hills would take you.

  He just wasn’t able to.

  They reached the traveller’s cairn as the sun dipped below the hills. Another night without reaching the river or Bison Clan, thought Tarin.

  He had caught up with Niko by late aft
ernoon, but neither of the boys spoke. They were tired and hungry, and lost in their own thoughts. They didn’t even speak when the gully opened out and they were finally able to scramble across the stream.

  The cairn was beside a small overhang. It was carved with the symbols of Bison Clan, with an arrow pointing towards the river. A mark cut below the waving lines, the symbol for river, told travellers how long the journey would take, but neither boy understood the counting words. Tarin scratched his head, but the vertical line with a small cross near the middle made no sense to him. He thought it shouldn’t be too far, maybe a half day’s walk.

  Tarin had heard of the traveller’s cairns – piles of rocks holding directions and emergency supplies. Clans would leave them on paths most travelled. Occasionally, they told of dangers or illnesses, especially those illnesses that spread quickly from person to person. Then the travellers would turn aside and take a different road.

  Tarin and Niko quickly demolished the pile of rocks. Inside, was a small deer hide tent, the corner slightly chewed, wrapped around a stash of dried meat, cracked grains and a small woven basket containing dried fungus and shredded bark, kindling and a firestone.

  ‘Food!’ The word burst from Niko’s lips.

  ‘Wait!’ Tarin grabbed Niko’s hands.

  ‘Why? It’s food, Tarin. Food!’ He pushed against the older boy, and Tarin toppled backwards, his hands grazing against hard rock.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ Tarin pushed Niko back.

  Niko snarled and lunged at Tarin, wrestling him to the ground. But both were weak from hunger, and they soon sat back on their haunches glowering at each other. A small trickle of blood ran from a cut near Niko’s eye. ‘I don’t see why we can’t eat it. That’s what it’s there for.’ He scowled.

  ‘We can eat it, but not so fast. It will make your stomach sick.’ Tarin remembered a time when his father had returned from a long, lean journey. He had swallowed five bowls of reindeer stew before his stomach emptied it all back out again. Old Mother had laughed at him and said it was his own fault. When the stomach isn’t used to food, too much can make you sick.

  ‘And we can’t eat it all. What if another traveller comes by?’

  ‘We’ll tell Bison Clan as soon as we arrive and they can restock it,’ said Niko. ‘Tarin, I’m starving!’

  Tarin nodded. ‘I am too.’ Then he grinned, his eyes shining in anticipation. He held up the firestone and dried bark. ‘Tomorrow, when we cross the river, we will get wet again. But tonight – we are going to have fire.’

  ‘Fire!’ Niko breathed the word reverently. ‘We could dry our clothes.’

  Tarin looked at the bountiful supplies before them, then grinned again. ‘Here.’ He passed Niko a strip of dried meat. ‘Eat this while I build the fire.’

  Tarin paused with the firestones in his hand, aware that Niko was secretly watching. What if I can’t do it? he thought. What if I break the stones? Or the flame won’t catch?

  He shook his head to stop such thoughts. He had made fire before. There was no reason to think he couldn’t do it again. He rolled his shoulders and tried to ease the ache in his muscles.

  His first strike was a good one, and it drew a bright spark from the stones. Tarin quickly leaned forward and blew the spark gently.

  ‘That’s all wrong . . .’ hissed Niko, waving his hands in the air.

  Tarin turned his back on him and continued to blow. A red tongue flickered in the nest, eagerly devouring the dry tinder. Carefully he fed the rest of the kindling. Niko passed him some larger pieces of wood and Tarin set them around the flame, steeping the tips together to form a peak. The flame licked at them greedily and grew bigger.

  ‘That’s a good fire, Tarin.’ Niko smiled as he held his hands out to the warmth.

  Tarin nodded, too relieved to speak. He hovered anxiously over the flame. It seemed so fragile, protected only by the overhanging rocks. He was happier when they set the tent up and were able to remove their wet boots. He spread the mammoth wool and sedge grass out to dry, spread the reindeer hide on top and sat down, reaching white, wrinkled feet towards the warmth. Before long he had a small hide cooking pot suspended over the glowing embers. Meaty broth simmered gently, and by his side was a bone cup of willowbark tea.

  ‘Tarin?’ Niko’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘That ravine. . . um . . . I couldn’t have climbed down it either.’

  A frown flickered over Tarin’s face. He wanted to ask why Niko had been so angry. Why he had shouted at Tarin, and tried so hard to hurt him if he couldn’t have climbed the gully either? But for the first time in days he was warm and dry and he had food in his belly. He shrugged the question away. It wasn’t so important.

  Tomorrow they would finally come to the river. A shadow passed over him and he shivered. For days, all they had thought about was getting to the river. They hadn’t thought about what would happen when they did. How would they cross?

  There must be a way, he thought, sipping his tea. The ache in his leg drifted away. Others have done it before. They could, too.

  Night deepened. The fire danced and crackled, and somewhere in the forest an owl hooted.

  He would worry about the crossing tomorrow.

  Kaija scrambled across a fallen oak tree and followed a small stream as it flowed towards the larger river. Thickets of blackthorn, cherry trees and hazel brush caught in her hair and scratched her face, but following the rivulet became easier as the day went on. It became wider and the forest around it opened out, becoming less impenetrable. Instead of pushing through thickets, Kaija now walked freely over lichen-crusted rocks and soft leaves. Through stands of oak and hornbeam, she caught glimpses of roe deer and beavers, chattering squirrels and wild boars grubbing for roots, but she had no time to stop and hunt. Fear for her brother gripped her, and she hurried to make up time.

  To the east, cloud heads were heavy with the threat of further snow. Despite the cool temperature, her constant moving had warmed her body and brought droplets of sweat to her brow. Snow would slow her down again, changing the landscape and leaving the ground icy. The seasons were changing, and Kaija didn’t like the thought of spending winter alone and lost in the forest.

  She munched thoughtfully on a handful of hazelnuts and late bilberries. How much longer would winter hold off? she wondered. What would she do then?

  The thought chipped away at her constantly – shelter, food, water. She couldn’t survive without them.

  Kaija shook her head and stowed her flask. She picked up her pace until she was jogging. It kept her mind from worrying and her temperature from dropping. Soon, she would need to stop for the night – find a shelter and eat more food. She had to stay strong. The stomach cramps and headaches of yesterday hadn’t returned, so hopefully it was just lack of food and water, and not the sickness that had made her feel so weak. Maybe Luuka’s rabbits helped after all. The thought made her smile.

  The ground was rockier now, and Kaija had to slow her pace. Her ankle still twinged on the uneven ground, but she drove herself as fast as she dared. By now, Boar Clan would have reached the river and turned south towards their home in the foothills of the cliffs. It was still a journey of many days.

  Kaija rubbed her growling stomach and cast another glance at the sky. She should make it to the river before the snow started to fall.

  The river was wide and turbulent, the churning depths cloudy with silt. Tarin studied the fast-flowing water and felt his stomach lurch. He could swim, of course. In the heat of summer, he liked nothing better than to float, weightless, in the river pools near home. In the water, he experienced a freedom he never could on land, but the sight of white peaked rapids and protruding rocks made him want to turn back the way they had come. Even Niko fell silent.

  ‘How far can you swim?’ Tarin asked, his eyes never leaving the churning water. A large tree branch floated by, swirling around as though it were no more than a leaf. It crashed against a rock and hung there for a moment, before the current pi
cked it up and bore it away.

  ‘I . . . I’m not sure,’ said Niko, quietly. He repositioned the makeshift pack on his back – the pack made from the deer hide tent and carrying the last of the supplies from the traveller’s cairn.

  The boys were standing on the wide, rocky beach that led down to the water. Sheets of ice crusted along the quieter edges, freezing the sedge grass and reeds that grew in bogs and still ponds by the river’s side. On the other side, steep grey cliffs rose almost vertically, studded with birch and alder and the occasional green pine. Tarin wondered how they were going to climb the cliffs.

  ‘Jarkko says . . .’ Niko swallowed, and fell silent. Then he tried again. ‘Jarkko says, if you aim across the river and down. Don’t fight against the current, but let it carry you.’

  Tarin nodded feebly, but didn’t answer.

  ‘He says, keep your foot coverings and leggings on. They may get wet, but they are still some protection from the cold. He says . . . he says the water . . . is like . . . ice.’

  ‘It is ice,’ said Tarin, finding his voice. ‘See the colour, that cloudy pale green? That means it’s run-off from the glacier.’

  He walked to the water’s edge and scanned the far bank.

  ‘We’ll aim for that darker cliff over there,’ he said, pointing a little downstream. Then he turned to Niko and clasped his shoulder. ‘Keep kicking. Keep moving. Whatever you do, don’t stop. We’ll see each other on the other side.’

  Niko pressed his lips together and nodded. His face was pale, but his gaze steady. Tarin hoped he looked as brave. They each re-tied the leather thongs around their leggings and mittens. Tarin checked his pack, tightening the straps. He slipped the spear shaft between two straps so his hands would be free to swim.

  ‘See you on the other side,’ said Niko, and started out into the water.